And it’s not the lack of sleep I fear
it’s the faux red-eye creeping close and near
cheering delicious whispers into my ear
jeering the thoughts inside my head
asking me to make love to my delicate bed
challenging the words I write with lassitude
continually thinking up passing platitudes
that need to be written
they need to be documented
this is the time, no other minute
and so I cave and open a new
blank page
and scribble my terminal ink away.
it’s nonsense, most definitely useless
but either way, I’ll regret it tomorrow
if yesterday, I passed the chance to
dance my thoughts upon the page.
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